The Dragons' Last Dance
by FolkenLacourdeFanel
Summary: Daenerys final thoughts as she stands in front of the Iron Throne. The coin fell on the side of greatness.
1. The dragons' last dance

Slowly, ashes swirling around her, she ascended the steps to the Iron Throne. Forged in Fire and Blood, the symbol of forced unity her ancestors had impressed upon the warring kingdoms of Westeros. Almost reverently she touched the sharp blades of bent and partially melted steel protruding at all angles from the abominable monstrosity. It had served its purpose, though not in the way the Conqueror had envisioned, spurred on by the dire warning of Daenys final dragondream.

For years she had struggled to understand this final moment of her vision in the House of the Undying. Tried to wrest meaning from the utter destruction it had shown her. Her birthright, the throne of her forefathers surrounded by death and devastation.

She had firmly believed herself a savior. A bringer of light, of freedom, of peace. Surely, there was a way to avoid this carnage. But the brutal, inevitable truth was that it wasn't. Not if she wished to stay true to her goal to finally break the wheel that ground the smallfolk, the abused, exploited and enslaved masses into dust.

But then, in the devastating days and weeks after the loss of Jorah and Missandei, she had received the first confirmation of the righteousness of her cause. Against all hope, Daario had succeed in completing what she had started. The son of a whore, risen from a back alley to be the leader of the freed slaves of Meereen, had smashed all remnants of resistance in Slavers Bay and crushed the Iron Legions of New Ghis in open battle. The defeat of the last slaver stronghold had rung like a clarion call all over the Free Cities, spread like wildfire by the priests of Rhllor. From Pentos to Volantis, Norvos to Lys, slaves had risen in their thousands against the masters. Deprived of their formerly endless supply of sellswords and slave soldiers, to old order was being swept away by the tidal wave of their unleashed fury.

It had given her hope. Even when all seemed lost, when it seemed she was doomed to repeat her forefather's tyranny to curb and control the Westerosi nobility's desire to play their deadly, foolish game, it had reignited the fire of faith in her mission.

It had begun with the Eunuch. While his goals seemed so similar to hers, his focus on maintaining the tyranny that was the Iron Throne along with his frightening ability to manipulate events in his favor were the first of the remaining obstacles she had to remove to achieve her desires. When she heard the ringing of the bells mounted atop Drogon on the walls of Kings Landing, she recognized the second one. The Kingdom was more than the Iron Throne, true, but the Throne and the City were it's most powerful symbols, and to shatter it, the symbols had to be destroyed first. The Line of Kings, her line, was the last.

Knowing what had to happen, she had sent off her guards. This would happen on her terms. None of them would be enobled by bringing about her death. This would be the Dragons' final dance.

She felt him approach more than she heard him and she called out to her last remaining child to join them. She could see it in his eyes. The anguish, the pain, the terrible burden of knowledge of what he would have to do. She envied him in a way. He would live. Her last remaining relative, the man that in another, kinder life she might have married and raised a family with at Summerhall. He would be her last instrument to complete her goal, but he would live nevertheless, hopefully with those that would truly appreciate what he had sacrificed for them.

Grey Worm had been given clear instructions of what was to happen. He would be firm, insistent on punishment, to protect him from the grasping hands of scheming siblings and false friends who would use him to their own end. A final gift to the last of her kin.

Surely, they would struggle on without him. They might even succeed in creating a false stability for a while. But soon their ambitions would overtake their ability to reason.

The stubbornness of the foolish northern girl would lay the first seeds of the inevitable destruction of the old order.

In the Iron Islands the thralls now outnumbered the nobles to such an extent that it was questionable how long the Greyjoy girl, already weakened by the greed of the remaining reaver houses, would be able to hold it all together.

In Dorne, the arrogant Bloodroyal would soon find himself embroiled in a civil war against all the other former petty kings kept in check since the arrival of Princess Nymeria.

In the Reach, the Hightowers, Fossoways, Florents and all the other noble fools would dig out their family trees to stake a claim to Highgarden.

The Riverlands, tenuous and full of strife at the best of times, soon would tire of the impotent fool sat in Riverun.

In the Vale, it was only a matter of time when the entitled fool of House Royce would either try to entice his childish lord to make a play at marrying the Queen in the North, by force if needs be, or take power for himself.

Her appointment of the bastard Baratheon blacksmith in the Stormlands would enrage and divide the remaining Stormlords, many of whom had Baratheon or even Durrandon roots themselves.

The West finally would never accept a dwarf, no matter how clever, and what remained of the mewling cats would tear each other apart to stake claim to Tywin's cursed inheritance.

The self styled Queen in the North, half Andal herself, if she wasn't staving off suitors among her banners or ambitious Valemen, would have to contend with incursions of the Faith of the Seven, who would see her as a means to spread their poisonous faith of subservience to the last stronghold of the Old Way. Yet, the Starks might endure but they would never rest easy, not with the constant threat of her nephew's people beyond the crumbling Wall.

In the end, maybe in years, maybe in decades, but surely in a century or two, the smallfolk, tired and weary of the strife would realize they were no different to the slaves in Essos and rise up and sweep away what remained of their foolish and entitled noble masters. Kinvara and her Faithful would ensure it. That had been the message Melisandre of Asshai had seen in the flames and carried with her to Volantis.

Of course, peace would be fleeting, war inevitable, but never again would men rule over others simply because their station of birth gave them a right to it.

He was close now, so very close. For the last time, to make his task easier, she wore her mask of mad rapture and spoke words that twisted her dreams into nightmares. She focused on the feeling of his lips on hers, the taste of desperate love in his kiss sustaining her through the pain that would finally take her back to her Sun and Stars…

Dracarys, Drogon… Farewell nephew…

A/N: I personally was enraged with that moronic flippant comment about Daenerys by D&D. Especially when they did such a piss poor job developing the characters there. I hold out hope, if that's how it ends, that GRRM does a much better job at writing it. I also hope that we are left with a little bit more than everything going back to the shitshow of slavery and entitled nobility from before this whole thing started...


	2. The last of the crows

"Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle." his own words echoed in Jon's head and he could only shake his head at the naivete of his younger self as he watched the sun rise in the east from the top of the wall, slowly creeping over the horizon across the frozen shores of Storrold's Point and the ruins of Hardhome.

Back then, he had dreamed of some glorious reunion with his erstwhile family in Winterfell. Elected the youngest Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Defender of the North and hero of many glorious battles against the Wilding clans all across the lands beyond the wall. What rubbish. He had achieved and done all of these things and more, but there had been no glory in it, only suffering and heartache, all the while his family had succumbed one by one either to the avarice of others or their own foolish mistakes, often both.

It had been months since those fateful days in King's Landing when everything he had known and believed in had once again come crashing down in a fiery wreckage of insanity and betrayal. The look of shock, dismay and horror in Daenerys eyes as he plunged the dagger into her heart still haunted his dreams just as much as the smell of burning flesh, blood and rotting corpses of the innocent small folk of King's Landing. Even now, none of it made sense. Not Daenerys turn from liberator to destroyer, not Sansa's rank betrayal of his secrets, Brandon's election as King, nor his own survival of both Drogon's and Grey Worm's wrath.

He supposed that he should have expected Sansa to have her own agenda. She had never been particularly forthcoming with information ever since she had talked him into retaking Winterfell. Had this been her endgoal? He shook his head and refused to continue to further entertain that direction of thought. He still considered her his sister and whatever her designs had been, whatever her motives, he would not allow himself to think badly of kin.

Daenery's descent into madness on the other hand haunted him. Tyrion and Varys aside, his aunt had been worshipped by her followers. He had spent many a night with Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm and others to learn about his aunt's deeds and had been hard pressed to find any truth in the nasty rumors others had spread about her.

Yes, she had stolen the Unsullied and burned the slavemasters of Astapor in the process, but considering what atrocities these men had committed against innocent children to create them, it seemed like fitting punishment.

Her reaction to the gruesome murders of the slave children was tame in comparison of what Benjen the Bitter Stark, slayer of the Greystarks or Tywin Lannister the drowner of Castamere would have done to them. All things considered, it might have avoided much of the tragedies that happened afterwards had she been more like either of those men.

Even the burning of the Tarlys was justifiable. It had had the desired result forcing her opponents to surrender without further bloodshed and it also was appropriate punishment for Randyll's betrayal of the Tyrells. As far as Northern justice was concerned, it might have been messier than a sword to the neck but she had delivered justice herself rather than have others do the deed.

Sam's rather violent reaction in that respect had been puzzling. Randyll Tarly after all had threatened to kill him if he didn't join the Watch and according to Sams childhood stories, his brother Dickon had had his own hand in tormenting him. He would have understood it if Sam had been upset, but for the man who had stolen his family's heirloom sword from his own home, to plot outright treason as a reaction? It seemed extreme, even for one as emotionally unbalanced and prone to erratic behavior as Sam. Had someone else spoken to him about Daenerys? Brandon perhaps?

At the same time how had the stern, forceful yet caring and compassionate woman he had encountered on Dragonstone become the Mad King's second coming? Had Varys betrayal, the loss of Jorah, Rhaegal and Missandei along with the rank refusal of the North to properly recognize her sacrifice truly led Daenerys to insanity? He supposed it was possible but then why wait for the bells of Kings Landing to toll at all? Why not let Drogon level the city from the beginning? It seemed too controlled, too calculated to be simple insanity.

If recent history of his Targaryen ancestors and the Lannisters was any guide, insanity usually came in tandem with paranoia, yet Daenerys had met him, the greatest threat to her claim, alone, unarmed and without her dragon in the Throne Room. And with the deed done, instead of burning him, Drogon had destroyed the Iron Throne and simply flown off with her body? He admittedly knew nothing of dragons but he knew something of wargs and trained hunting dogs. In either instance if the master died violently in their presence, the bonded predatorial animals would run amok and attack any person they deemed responsible for the death of their alpha.

Finally there was the matter of Grey Worm. The man had worshipped the ground Daenerys walked on. Yet he had not slain him when he found him with a bloody dagger over Daenerys body nor had he seemingly fought all too hard at the council to have him executed. For him to accept his banishment to the defunct Night's Watch as punishment seemed ludicrous. The man had fought during the Long Night. He knew enough about the purpose and history of the Watch to know that its purpose had ended. Yet he had acquiesced.

It almost seemed like his only goal had been to keep him off the Throne of Westeros. But why? And at who's behest?

Finally, there was Brandon's election as king. For a nobility so focused on blood claims, his ascension had gone ridiculously smoothly. Even Robert Baratheon, despite all his hate for the Targaryens, had to use his Targaryen grandmother to justify his claim to avoid a great council. For sure, it had been Jon Arryn guiding matters behind the scene, but the drunken whoremongering oaf had clearly seen enough sense to follow the advice.

The Starks, Lyanna aside, had never married into the Targaryen family. They were heathens who followed the old Gods and no Stark ever held claim to lands south of the Neck. Surely what remained of the Valyrian houses in the Crownlands, even the remaining relations of the Martells or one of the Hightowers of Old Town had better claim to the throne than Brandon. Hells, even the majority of the Northerners didn't understand let alone believe the idea of Greenseers. The Faith surely would soon riot at the idea of what they would call a heathen Witch King sitting the Throne of Westeros.

It was this particular mystery he had decided to devote himself to solving. Brandon had mentioned a cave under a weirwood at the edge of the Haunted Forest as the place where he had met the last Three Eyed Raven.

Letting his gaze roam over the rough, wild landscape towards the eastern edge of the crumbling wall, Jon took a deep breath of the crisp Northern air and made his way back towards the lift to Castle Black.

Yes, he would try and find answers to the mystery of Brandon Stark but unlike before, he didn't feel a particular sense of urgency to do so. He was a banished man. He was with people he understood, people who respected him. He had no more oaths to uphold, no divine duties to fulfill, now more orders to follow. For the first time in his life, Jon realized, he was free.

The End

A/N: This is a companion piece to my previous story that tried to restore some agency to Daenerys actions in the penultimate episode. This one takes a look at Jon's mind prior to him setting out beyond the Wall with the Free Folk. I always felt that Jon was smarter than what was shown in the show, but that his compassion and his overdeveloped sense of honor prevented him from making the sometimes cruel and ruthless decisions leaders of a medieval time period had to make to stay alive and succeed. I may or may not follow this up with a story of Jon's quest to learn more about what happened to Brandon but in truth, I think Jon will pursue this more for his own knowledge than to take any actions to stake his claim etc.. As stated in the final sentence. Jon is free for the first time in his life. I think he will spend some time figuring out what that means for him and I could see him either settle down or set out to just explore the Lands of Always Winter, or maybe both?

There is also the fact that I am kinda over Showverse. D&D butchered so many plotlines and omitted so many side characters that I don't see how I could possibly clean this up without having to do some massive retconning to resurrect some of them. In away Jon's thoughts allude to some of that. I respect that within the context of a TV show it's hard to stay 100% true to a universe as expansive as ASOIAF but some of their plot decisions really fucked up the continuity and their rushed job to reach what we can only assume is JRRM's final scenario really messed things up even more. I'd rather play with Bookverse and make up my own shit along the way. Although in all honesty unless I can find a good beta that knows the books inside out, I don't think that will see the light of day anytime soon.


End file.
